RPlog:Meet Kyyel
Kyyel As you look over this human, the first thing you can tell is that he stands tall, a little bit under two meters in height. His build and movements are that of an athlete, or at least someone who keeps in shape. His head is covered by light brown hair, which is brushed straight back; the ends coming to rest just under the bottom level of his ears. A pair of deep gray eyes look out from his face, staying focused on whatever they are looking at. His face itself holds sharp feature; yet cannot help bring to mind pictures of rogues... as this man's lower face is covered with a good amount of rough-stubble. Kyyel wears what looks to be fairly common spacer clothing; a deep black shirt, which covers his body from neck to wrists. Covering the shirt over each shoulder, and running down his sides to link at his belt lies what looks to be segmented padding or armor of some kind, still allowing freedom of movement while providing some type of protection. His hands are covered by a pair of gloves suitable for piloting or fencing, the inner palms crafted to give support and padding in all the right places. The exterior of the gloves looks to be of the finest of tanned nerf leather, dyed a deep, dark black. Over his legs are a pair of light tan trousers. The pants fit loosely over the human's legs, apparantly giving him full freedom of movement. On his belt rests a holster for a heavy blaster, and on the other side, is an ornate scabbard, obviously for a sword. The scabbard itself is made of black carmteek leather, and over that is laid silver olumite, drawn out in intricate patterns over the leather. On his feet, a pair of worn, but still quite serviceable boots rest. Their coloring is a mix of dark browns and blacks, and seem to allow for the most ease of movement possible. Landing Pad - Justa Starport Large enough to accomodate all but the most massive ships, the main landing pad of Justa Starport is sheltered within an immense crater. Automated control beacons and sophisticated sensor arrays sit perched atop the shielding granite walls, relaying flight clearances and keeping track of all local space traffic. Ships of all classes are docked here, but most are freighters transporting valuable prothium from the Killinari gas giant. As each of these freighters arrive, maintenance crews scramble into action, unloading the gas containers onto cargo drones for transport to the refinery stations in the industrial sector. Grim faced and with hands balled into fists, Simon Sezirok departs the dinged up Lambda called _Storm Wisp_, stepping into the moist air that was a part of the Justa moon's charm. The stench of ship fumes and technological machines assaulted Simon's nostrils once again. It did nothing to help his mood. Stalking away from the _Storm Wisp_, walking with purposeful strides, Simon brings his right hand to his face and rubs his nose, irritably. It didn't help. He was steeped in the stench of technology. But in that technology that Simon was steepled in, ships were prevelant. In the tarmac many ships rest, their fumes filling the air. And if the Selas looked up... across the way from the _Storm Wisp_ sat another ship that recently found herself sharing port with the Lambda. The _Aegis_ rests quietly upon her landing struts, the engines of the freighter cool in the thin atmosphere of the moon. And before the YT-2400, a lone figure stands, watching the _Storm Wisp_ through a pair of steel gray eyes. As Simon makes his appearance from the shuttle, the face of the man tightens deeply, and he notices several things at once; the grim face of the Selas; the balled fists. Kyyel Marrak takes long, steady breaths, already having seen Mailyn's state a few days ago. A state brought on by this man. Without a word, the Corellian begins to walk forward, moving to intercept the Selas' path. No weapons drawn, and no outward sign of hostility. But inside, the Corellian keeps a tight hold on himself as he draws closer, until he finally calls out towards the other man, "Simon." A heartbeat before Kyyel made his address to Simon, the Selas knew of his presence, felt the familiar life force that was Kyyel Marrak glowing just outside his field of vision. It was only enough of a warning to keep Simon from jumping, startled at the man's appearance. As lost as Simon had been in his dark, brooding thoughts, just the fact that a strange voice had called his name would have been enough to cause Simon some fright. Yet through the True Source, such embarrassment could be avoided. Turning toward Kyyel, Simon's eyes narrow. Unballing his fists, Simon crosses his arms in front of him, casually placing his hands under his armpits and shrugging his shoulders forward, flexing the tensed muscles along his collarbone and neck. Such posturing was not beneath Simon, in his current frame of mind. With a voice like a rasp, Simon addresses Kyyel. "Jedi lover. What are you doing here? Come to finish what Aurejin began?" Though Simon doesn't reach for the lightstaff strapped to his back, though he doesn't make any aggressive move at all, Simon's stance silently screams readiness, like a great hunting animal in that split second just before its pounce upon unsuspecting prey. But unlike most prey, this one also knew how to hunt as well. His own stance remains poised; his weight resting upon the balls of his feet, while his arms hang loose to his sides. He doesn't make a grab for his blaster or his sword, although he does arch an eyebrow at Simon's words. The fact that the Selas seems to have been aware of him before he had stated anything was of little surprise; Kyyel had learned to expect the unexpected. "No actually. I had originally come here not looking for you, but looking for Mailyn. She had a rather sudden disappearance." His lips tighten into a fine line, even as he looks towards a man standing, to Kyyel's mind, much like a nerf strutting it's nose in its rear. "I found her a few days ago though. She had quite the tale for me..." Now, Kyyel's eyes narrow further, and his own hands turn into tight fists. With his lips pursed, Simon lowers his eyes toward Kyyel's hands, watching in a mixture of amusement and disgust as Kyyel makes fists. "I rescued Mailyn from the Imperials, _dooshka_," Simon says, flicking his eyes back up, scrutinizing the pilot's face. "You think I should have left her there? Perhaps you thought you'd take them all on yourself, in your little ship, with your toy blaster and a lot of foolish bravado." Flicking another gaze toward Kyyel's fists, Simon continues, "You want to fight me, don't you? You've drank from the Jedi's teats, and believe that I am your enemy, is that it?" "Rescued her... yes. But how long did you leave her there?" Kyyel follows Simon's gaze, and then looks back up to meet the Selas' gaze, a faint grin crossing his features, "You give me far too much credit, you sorry excuse for hutt sweat." Kyyel allows his hands to fall open, taking in deep breaths. Anger wasn't going to help him now, nor would sending Simon into a rage. "But no, I didn't even know they had her. You did get her out, and for that, I suppose I should be thankful." Kyyel continues on a moment longer, "As for me drinking from the Jedi's teats; it sure beats drinking from a nerf's. But you're the only one who'll make yourself my enemy. I've told you before, I'll only fight you if you leave me no choice. Personally though, you disgust me." He motions towards the _Storm Wisp_, "What you've put her through could be twenty times worse than anything the Imperials have done, yet you don't care. I can tell that by looking at you. You've torn that woman in so many directions she's spread across half the galaxy, but you don't care." Slowly, Simon lets his hands slip from beneath his armpits, letting them drop to his sides. With his feet shoulder width apart and his hands held away from his hips, he looked like a gunslinger, getting ready to slap leather and draw. The comparison was shattered by the fact that Simon wore no weapons at either hip, and a blaster in Simon's hands would be as foreign as a hydrospanner. With Kyyel's words comes a torrent of emotion, reflecting in Simon's eyes and drawing the corners of Simon's lips into an angry grimace. It was not the insults. Simon had heard far worse, from more formidable foes. The anger, the white hot rage that pumped acid through Simon's veins and made his stomach gnaw viciously on the back of his spine, was Kyyel's arrogant, ignorant dismissal of Simon's feelings toward the Corellian woman. For a moment, the True Source is with him, pouring through him, directed by a ferocious subconscious that wanted to do away with Kyyel Marrak once and for all. He could be a thorn in Simon's side, a prickly burr in his shoe that irritated until Simon stopped everything he was doing to focus his attention on dealing with it. An invisible force begins to caress Kyyel's throat, sliding along the skin just above one of the arteries carrying Kyyel's life's blood to his brain. For the finest of moments, Simon begins to squeeze. As soon as it had begun, Simon stops. Drawing in a deep, calming breath, Simon forces a smile across his lips. He raises his arms and folds them across his chest once more. If he could remain calm enough, this could all be turned to his advantage. "As you say, Kyyel Marrak. I do not care anything for Mailyn Raines." Simon lets his eyes roll towards the _Storm Wisp_, then back to Kyyel. "Tell that to your Jedi friends, will you? Mailyn Raines is free of me. There is nothing between us. Tell them that, and perhaps you'll be doing Mailyn a great service, as the Jedi vermin will know how futile it would be to try and use Mailyn against me." As Simon begins his squeeze, Kyyel feels the slight touch begin along his throat... only to have it disappear a moment later. His eyes narrow suspiciously to Simon, and for a moment, Kyyel's hands drift to his weapon. But they fall for only a centimeter before they stop once more. Nothing is said, but the Corellian's caution just went up more than a few levels; he had experienced too much to discount anything. "I'll tell them Simon, you rest assured. I'll tell them that the spawn that nips at their heels finally has finally decided that he's done enough to one poor woman at her breaking point. I'll tell them the parasite that feeds off of misery and innocents has finally drained one to nearly a husk, but has left her forever. I'll tell them the virus that seeks them thinks nothing more of this woman." Kyyel smiles widely now, "But you seem to be mistaken; manipulating those weaker than you and exploiting them seems to be your job." "Insult me all you want, Kyyel Marrak," Simon says, his calm solidified in his resolve. "In fact, if you wish me to give you reason to insult me, I will oblige. Just tell them that Mailyn Raines will not be a lever to be used against me. They could expose themselves for the monsters that they are by capturing and abusing Mailyn Raines, or they could remain in the shadows, pulling their strings and manipulating puppets like you. You don't even know what they've done to your mind, do you Kyyel Marrak? Of course not. It's obvious to one with eyes for such things. Why don't you ask Jessalyn Valios about that some time, that little blemish on your soul, like a blood stain in the grass? That is, if you can catch her attention when she isn't killing people on Tatooine." As Simon speaks, Kyyel frowns for a moment, his thoughts wandering. For half a heart-beat... Kyyel listens to Simon's words. Considers their meaning for an instant. His thoughts return to a time upon Chandrila, when Jessalyn told him something about his mother; something he himself had tried to search for for so long. But he looks into this man's eyes, and remembers Jessalyn's own on that same day. The frown upon his face disappears, and in fact, a faint chuckle escapes his lips, "Tell me Simon, you try that same trick on everyone? Try to put the same doubt in their eyes? My soul is clear, maybe you should look upon your own." "I have, Kyyel Marrak," Simon says, smiling darkly. His eyes are untouched by the smile, ice blue chips smoldering as they regard the pilot before him. "I know that I am damned. By Jessalyn Valios's hand, on the beaches of Corellia, by soul became corrupted. The only possible absolution for me is to bring justice to the ones that brought me to this end, and even then, it probably won't be enough. Take my advice, Kyyel Marrak. Flee from them. Put distance between yourself and any that can touch the True Source. We are the ones responsible for your... blemish. We are the ones that need to die. Not you, nor Mailyn Raines. Save yourself, while you still can. If it is not too late." Kyyel returns the smile, and continues without missing a beat, "Why don't you take your own advice Simon?" He walks forward now, daring to approach the Selas, "Tell me though, what was it that Jessalyn did that damns you so? I've heard much about what she's done on that beach, but you never once mentioned that horrid thing she did." His face becomes calm now, even as he looks down towards Simon, "What, in all that exists, could she have possibly done to you to make you hate them so? What is it that makes you so blind to the fact that she desperately wishes things could be different between you and the Jedi? Tell me Simon, what happened?" It takes Simon a moment to respond. It was clear to Simon that Kyyel had become a sycophant of the Jedi. The way the man stood here, speaking the Jedi's rhetoric, standing up for them when they weren't here. Mailyn had seen the proof, yet Kyyel refused. It could only be because Kyyel's mind was enslaved by the Jedi's will. That being the case, what damage could Simon do to Kyyel's already corrupted, enslaved soul? Perhaps, if he were to use some of the Jedi's vile ways, he could amend the damage done by Jessalyn Valios and her brood. "She taught me something I can never unlearn," Simon replies. Without blinking, Simon draws upon the True Source and directs it toward Kyyel, reaching toward that part of Kyyel's mind where decisions and thoughts were formed. It seemed strange to Simon that, at this proximity, so close to Kyyel's soul, he couldn't directly see the corruption and destruction wrought by the Jedi's hands. Perhaps Simon lacked the finesse and skill to see such damage. "You will not look upon me as your enemy anymore, Kyyel Marrak," Simon says, drawing upon the True Source and attempting to make the statement true within Kyyel's mind. "The Jedi will not command you any longer. You will not be their lapdog." Even as Simon speaks his words, Kyyel's eyes grow wide, "Blast you, Simon..." even as he speaks, his hand flies to the hilt of his sword, pulling it halfway out from the scabbard in the time it takes his eyes to blink. But even for all his skill and speed, Kyyel can't match the speed of which Simon uses the Force. For the second time in his life, Kyyel can feel his mind come under attack by forces he barely can understand. And once more, his mind does what it can to hold its defenses up. It was said that the Force could work upon the weak-minded. It becomes clear enough that Kyyel does not fit into that category, for even though he holds no vast reserves, he has a determined perserverance that could withstand much. And yet, the strength of Simon's will slips through, despite the Corellian's best efforts. Even as the tip of the sword nears the edge of the scabbard to complete the slash, Kyyel pauses to speak words that will bring a bit of shock even to him when he later considers them, "You... are not my enemy." And with that, the sword slips back into its sheath, sliding home in a smooth motion. "That's right," Simon says, watching Kyyel's sword, from its withdrawal to the point where it was laid back to rest within its sheath. "I am not your enemy." Simon no longer wields the True Source against Kyyel's mind, but instead, relies upon what has already been done. He couldn't be certain of what all the Jedi had done to the young man, but those two things seemed likely. They would want any of their sycophants to be pliable, malleable to their commands and will. And, they would want to ensure that the ones they saw as enemies, their hounds saw as enemies. To add any more suggestions within Kyyel's mind would be to fully embrace what it was to be a Jedi. Simon was already dangerously close to the line, by his reasoning. Mailyn would not approve. What was done was done. Putting a hand on Kyyel's shoulder, Simon brings his other hand up to brush some dust from Kyyel's lapel and opposite shoulder. As Simon does this, Simon says in congenial tones, "I think that you and I got off to the wrong start. You and I both want what is best for Mailyn Raines. You may not believe that of me, but it is true. I healed the wounds the Imperials gave her, and I left her to work on something on her ship for me. There had been a misunderstanding between Mailyn Raines and I. Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding between you and I, as well." At the touch of Simon, Kyyel visibly stiffens... breathing quickly now even as his hand still holds his sword tightly. Even still, the sense to strike does not even enter Kyyel's mind, while his lips repeat the phrase again, "You... are... not my enemy." It's as though he had forgotten the most simple technique... one he could do without thinking of it. And yet it eluded his command now. He felt betrayed at his own body... but more so, he felt as though he had betrayed his friends. Even pushing Simon from him seems to be impossible, so instead, Kyyel takes a step back from the Selas, horror now showing in his eyes, "What did you do to her, you filth?" Kyyel's voice all but drips with anger and frustration now, even as he strains against his body once more. Finally his shoulders droop, and he shakes his head, "What did you do to me?" "I did nothing to her," Simon says, frowning. There must still be something left of the Jedi's vile machinations left in Kyyel's head, but whatever it was, it was too complicated for Simon to countermand without jeopardizing whatever was left of Kyyel's sanity. "The Jedi have never manipulated her the way that they'd manipulated you. All that I did was speak with Mailyn Rains, and we discovered that we had misunderstood the other's intentions." "You, on the other hand," Simon continues. He brings his right hand to his face and rubs his chin thoughtfully, "You, I've freed from some of the chains the Jedi put on your mind. I can not release you from all of them, however. You should take my advice. Flee from the Jedi, and all that touch the True Source. Perhaps in time, your mind will heal itself. If I could do more for you, I would, but it is not where my skills lie." Growling deeply, Kyyel strains again, only to once more feel his body not respond. He shakes his head, his body straining, but his eyes showing a touch of defeat for the first time that he's ever looked upon Simon. For the Selas has taken the one thing the Jedi would not... he has taken Kyyel's free will. Eyes closing after a moment, all Kyyel can do now is hold onto what Simon has said... 'Perhaps in time, your mind will heal itself.' Kyyel could only pray that was true. Looking up to the Selas again, Kyyel bites his lip tightly, the defeat fading, "The Jedi did nothing Simon. If you could look with open eyes, you'd have seen that. You've done something..." he shakes his head, "Something that they never would do. Do me no favors..." Although he speaks with conviction, he feels a faint bit of fear for whatever else the Selas might decide would be best for him. "Just leave me..." His voice is low, as though a heavy weight had been put into place." "You'll thank me, some day, I'm sure," Simon says, nodding his head to Kyyel. That said, Simon turns on his heal and walks off, his long legged stride consuming landing pad territory as he moves off toward another ship. Meet Kyyel